


The Menagerie

by Westerosi_Zephyr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, One Shot, mentions of physical abuse, sansan (ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4238835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Westerosi_Zephyr/pseuds/Westerosi_Zephyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A travelling menagerie comes to King's Landing in the days before Myrcella departs for Dorne. As the prospect of battle looms over the city, the royal court is eager for a diversion. Sansa, Joffrey, and the King's sworn shield go along to see the spectacle, but it isn't what Sansa expects.</p>
<p>Set midway through ACoK, an attempt to explore Sansa and Sandor's relationship and illustrate an event that could have happened 'between chapters' while staying true to canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Menagerie

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I love love love receiving comments. You guys are the best. I hope you enjoy.

Her room was hot and stuffy as an oven. Sansa threw open the shutters and stood before the wide window, but there was no breeze to cool her skin. Dabbing her brow with a handkerchief, Sansa despaired at how disgusting and unladylike it was to sweat like this.

Faraway shouts drifted to her ears. She smelled the ever-present stink of the city, the briny scent of the sea mingled with smoke and excrement. From the window she could see figures already assembling in the Red Keep’s yard. She needed to hurry.

Turning from the window, she tried to decide what she would wear. Foul as she felt under this oppressive heat, she wanted to look beautiful for the outing. Half the court would be going, after all. _A lady has a duty always to appear calm and at ease,_ Septa Mordane used to say. _It is unseemly to disturb others by making one’s personal discomfort known._ Examining her meager wardrobe, Sansa felt a fresh wave of anger at Joffrey for ruining her nice blue silk. Most of the gowns remaining to her were tight in various places or else scandalously short. At last she chose a simply cut cream-and-rose colored linen dress. Her bedmaid, a girl who might have been pretty but for an unfortunate complexion, helped her dress and began arranging her hair.

_She doesn’t look at me when she dresses me,_ Sansa noted. _Not directly._ She wondered if the girl was bothered by the bruises left by Joffrey’s beatings. The bruise on her belly, though still tender, had faded almost to nothing, but her legs still bore red lines where Ser Boros had laid his sword to them. It didn’t matter much what the girl thought, Sansa decided. She would soon be replaced by yet another maid. The Queen didn’t allow servants to attend to Sansa for more than a fortnight, lest they be tainted by her treasonous blood. She sat in silence until the girl had finished.

By the time she joined the growing party the yard was full of various court retainers: dozens of lords and ladies, most of them mounted; some landed knights with their squires; even Jalabhar Xho, the exile prince from the Summer Islands. Stable boys hurried back and forth, and red cloaks and men-at-arms sweated under mail and boiled leather. The Queen and Lord Tyrion were conspicuously absent, but Sansa supposed they had more important things to do.

Anticipation hung over them all. The previous day had brought news of a travelling mummer troupe just outside the city gates, complete with acrobats and fire-eaters and, most exciting, a menagerie full of exotic creatures. It had taken no time at all for this outing, large as it was, to be arranged. Everyone was grateful for the break in the wartime monotony.

Sansa sought out Princess Myrcella and found her near the stables, her light gauzy gown setting off her golden hair. Beside her stood white-cloaked Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard and fat Prince Tommen, wearing a red and gold doublet that was much too heavy for the weather. 

The princess smiled sweetly. “Lady Sansa!” She clasped Sansa’s hand and kissed her cheek as Tommen piped a greeting. 

They were all three mounted, the party ready to leave any minute, when suddenly the crowd split to make way for a rider on a grey courser. Sansa’s heart sank. _Joffrey._ And riding behind him on his huge black destrier, the Hound. She had avoided the King as much as possible since that day in the throne room, and had hoped he would scorn to go with them.

_Leave her face. I like her pretty._

Sansa forced herself to say politely, “Your Grace! Will it please you to ride with us?” 

Joffrey’s smug worm-lips curled. “Yes. I mean to see for myself if the mummers’ entertainments are worth all this trouble.” At that moment the castle gates swung open and those nearest to them began riding out. The King surveyed the scene with disdain. “Need we have every red cloak and man-at-arms in the Keep watch over us like wet nurses? I hadn’t heard tell the mummers were so fierce.”

“The smallfolk in the city are restless, Your Grace,” Ser Arys said evenly. “We take these precautions to ensure that no harm comes to the royal family or your honored guests.”

“My dog can do for a few stupid smallfolk with sticks,” Joffrey smirked.

“We have our orders, Your Grace,” Ser Arys said, glancing at the Hound with an expression of distrust.

_The songs say the Kingsguard used to be a brotherhood of true knights, bound by honor and duty,_ Sansa thought bitterly. Ser Jaime’s betrayal of the Mad King had broken that bond, though, and Joffrey’s replacing Ser Barristan with the Hound hadn’t helped. _But at least the Hound tried to stop them beating me. “Enough,” he said._

Joffrey huffed. “Let’s be off. Dog, after me!” 

The procession made its ponderous way down River Row. A few merchants called out to them, trying to interest the riders in their wares. Sansa saw skinny children chasing pigeons and several people leaning from open windows above the street, hoping in vain for a breeze. Some of the smallfolk paused to watch as they passed, their hard stares sending a tremor down Sansa’s spine, but none accosted them. After a few words with the gold cloaks guarding the King’s Gate the party passed through the city walls.

_This is where they held the Tourney of the Hand to honor my father,_ Sansa thought with a shiver of recognition, looking across the wide, flat expanse. It all seemed so strange and long ago, as if it had been another girl who cheered in the stands at that tourney and Sansa had only heard about it second-hand.

Instead of tents and pavilions and a jousting arena, there was now a line of brightly painted but weatherworn wagons. Mummers in equally bright garb rushed to greet their noble patrons, smiling broadly and bowing as they collected their coin.

“Majesty.” The one Sansa took for the mummers’ leader, a spare man dressed in blue and yellow tights and a matching tunic, bowed deeply as Joffrey dismounted and handed his reins to a man-at-arms. “A terrific honor, Your Grace.” Joffrey ignored him.

Sansa and the others secured their horses in the shade of one of the trees dotting the landscape and approached the menagerie on foot. Sansa couldn’t help but gape until she remembered her manners and closed her mouth. The menagerie truly did hold wonders. Wrought iron bars sprouted from the dozen painted wagons they had glimpsed from afar, forming cages that glinted in the sunlight. Within the cages were all manner of exotic creatures. Sansa saw a brown bear big as a horse, a lizard-lion from the swamps of the Neck, a pair of ring-tailed monkeys from Slaver’s Bay, a tawny westerlands lion, a white tiger from the Dothraki Sea in Essos, a Dornish turtle as big around as a wagon wheel, and others she couldn’t name.

With an eager whoop Tommen raced toward the lion’s cage, a red cloak running after him. Myrcella cooed over the monkeys. The crowd broke into groups of twos and threes as the lords and ladies milled about the wagons, but Joffrey, shadowed always by the Hound, cleaved to Sansa’s side.

Sansa moved slowly from cage to cage. The closer she looked at the animals, the further her spirits fell. Closer up she noticed what she hadn’t from afar. The cages were small and bare, hardly big enough for the larger animals to take but a pace or two in. The creatures themselves were gaunt and listless, lying almost motionless in the shadeless enclosures. She could count the ribs of the lion that so enthralled Tommen, see its running eyes and lolling tongue as it panted. Pity knotted in her tummy. She wished she could leave.

Joffrey shared her desire. He sighed loudly. “This is boring. Are these beasts supposed to be frightening? They aren’t doing anything,” he complained.

“Surely some of these creatures interest you, Your Grace,” Sansa said placatingly, making her way down the line of wagons as though absorbed by the sights.

“I should order my dog to tickle one of these beasts with his sword. Think you could make the bear dance for us, dog?”

“This beast? Looks more like to die than dance.”

Joffrey snickered as if the Hound had made a jape.

Sansa stopped short in front of a cage with bars finer and closer together than the rest. Inside it a score of brilliantly-plumed birds of all sizes flapped and squawked, ruffling jewel-toned feathers of every hue imaginable. 

Sansa caught her breath. This was what she had imagined the menagerie would be like. Although the cage was as bare as the others, the birds seemed to be the only creatures not languishing in the heat. Some screeched, some trilled, some made noises that sounded eerily like speech. They took off in short bursts of flight, their spread wings dazzling as they caught the sun, only to be brought short by the iron bars. They were so beautiful, yet though they appeared less wretched than the other creatures they were trapped just as surely. A lump rose in Sansa’s throat.

The mummer in yellow and blue chose then to reappear next to the King. “Will you be attending our performance at dusk, Your Grace?” He spoke with a mummer’s peculiar over-exaggerated articulation. “We’ll be performing the Farce of the Miller’s Daughter, always sure to lift a crowd’s spirits. We would be honored by your presence, honored.”

“You ought to be _honored_ I don’t throw the lot of you in the Red Keep’s dungeons for wasting your King’s time with this pathetic thing you call a menagerie,” Joffrey said contemptuously.

“A-apologies, y’Grace,” the mummer stuttered, losing his pompous affectation. “We’re not what we once were, ‘tis true, yes, you’re right. We’ve fallen on hard times, what with the war. The people are closer with their coin than they were wont to be before. Sorry to have displeased you, very sorry…”

Sansa had noted how few visitors the menagerie had aside from those from the castle. A few of those gathered around the wagons might have been rich merchants judging by their dress, but she saw none of the city’s masses of poor, a strange thing considering the smallfolks’ usual thirst for novelty. _Can it really be that they haven’t even a copper to spare to see the animals?_ Were things really so dire? There had been that incident at the gates some weeks past, but somehow Sansa hadn’t given it much thought. Those in the Red Keep still danced and dined on bacon and lemony pike and sweet fruit tarts. The war always seemed so far away, even when she overheard discussions of the latest reports from the battlefront...

The lords and ladies were losing interest, drifting away and milling aimlessly.

“Are you one of the mummers?”

Preoccupied, Sansa hadn’t noticed Tommen approach. The mummer glanced nervously from Joffrey to the boy. “Aye. Would you be Prince Tommen? An honor, an honor.”

Tommen beamed. “I like your lion. Grandfather says it’s been _years_ since anyone saw a lion near Casterly Rock. I bet it eats a lot.”

“A grievous lot, my prince. In truth, more that we can afford in our current sad state, with food prices what they are…”

Curiosity bested Sansa. “What will you do if you cannot feed them?”

“Ah, well… to tell it plain, that’s why we’ve come to the city, my lady.” The man wetted his lips. “It’s our hope to sell the poor creatures. I see many fine lords here. Might one of them be interested in acquiring a private menagerie…?”

“A menagerie, or a collection of exotic skins to drape himself in?” the Hound’s harsh rasp startled Sansa.

“What they do with the creatures once they’ve bought them is no business of ours, simple band of players as we are.”

“No, you can’t let them do that!” Tommen cried.

“Perhaps… perhaps, my lord, you might wish to have the lion you so admired for your own?” the man ventured. “It would be fitting—the sigil of your mother’s house! A good omen for the days ahead!”

“Piss on that. The bloody thing looks but half alive. What sort of omen will a dead lion make?”

“My dog is right,” Joffrey said. “Try to foist one of your pathetic beasts upon the royal family again and you’ll find yourself in a black cell. I’m tired of this. Let’s go.”

Guards shouted the King’s order for all to hear, but the party’s size made it slow to reassemble. The mummer trailed forlornly behind them as they prepared to depart. Sansa fell back to ask the man a last question. “What will become of the animals if you don’t sell them?”

“We hope to find buyers, but if we don’t… Can’t have lions and bears roaming the streets.” His shrug said the rest. “Perhaps you, my lady, would like to…?”

“I’ve no coin,” Sansa confessed. “But… even the birds? Surely they don’t eat nearly as much as the others. And they can’t be dangerous, not like lions and bears!” 

“Don’t worry about them, girl.” The Hound laughed darkly. “The pot shops in Flea Bottom aren’t too picky about what goes in their stews. The birds’ll find buyers, assuming this man’s willing to take whatever’s offered, to be rid of them.”

“You’re awful!” Sansa stormed at him. “And mean-spirited! You just like saying horrible things to upset people!”

“You’ve angered my betrothed, Hound,” Joffrey drawled, amused.

_I’m making a spectacle of myself._ Princess Myrcella was regarding her nervously, and several of the ladies within earshot had begun whispering behind their hands. Lifting her chin, she glared at the Hound and clambered ungracefully onto her mare’s back, ready to leave this horrid place.

But it seemed the gods would grant her no rest from the mocking and humiliation, for Joffrey insisted on riding beside her and filling her ears with still more cruel remarks.

“Shame your direwolf is dead,” he said as they waited for the King’s Gate to admit them. “I could have sold it to a menagerie like that one for a whole bag of dragons, at least before the war. Your sister’s bitch I would’ve skinned for its pelt, like my mother wanted.”

A vision of Lady, gentle Lady, took hold of Sansa. Lady, languishing in a cage like those other poor creatures, starved and gawked at and prodded by faceless masses. Lady, who used to like Sansa to brush her, used to nose Sansa’s palm when she wanted attention. _Spare yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants._ She mustn’t show anger or contradict him. What was it Joffrey wanted? To make her weep? “Yes, Your Grace,” she mumbled, squeezing a few tears from her eyes. “Our wolves were dangerous beasts. The Queen was wise to insist they be destroyed.”

The burned corner of the Hound’s mouth twitched.

Joffrey glowered. Evidently unsatisfied, but unable to find fault with her reponse, he kicked his courser to a canter.

In the Red Keep’s yard, strong hands gripped Sansa’s waist to help her dismount. She shrank from the Hound’s touch, turning her back to him as soon as her feet touched ground. There was a lethargic, subdued quality to the dispersing party, an air of shared disappointment. Sansa wanted nothing more than to return to her room and lay her head down on her pillow and forget the day’s events. It hadn’t been a nice outing at all, she thought. Nothing about it had been nice.

“Sulking, little bird?”

Sansa ignored him. She gave her chestnut mare over to a stable boy and hastened to her chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast, where she would at last be alone. 

The Hound followed. “You’re not to go about the castle unescorted,” he said brusquely, but as they left the others behind something in his voice changed, and he grabbed her arm from behind to make her face him. “Don’t worry, little bird. Might be some of those beasts will be all right. There’s bound to be some lordling or other fool enough to waste his gold on them.”

“Perhaps you are right, my lord,” she said stiffly.

Sansa spent the remainder of the day in her room, claiming to have been over-tired by the excursion. Her bedmaid brought the evening meal to her, and as she ate she watched dusk gather outside. The moon rose above the castle walls, but the day’s heat was slow to fade, and Sansa felt too restless to think about sleep.

She threw her plain grey cloak across her shoulders and raised the hood. _I’ll visit the godswood and pray for Robb,_ she decided. And if she happened to meet Ser Dontos, she would beg him not to wait any longer, to take her away at once.

Practiced now at visiting the godswood unseen, she slipped across the drawbridge and up the serpentine steps. But as she was creeping down the colonnade she spotted him, the Hound. He was silhouetted beside a column, his size unmistakable even in the dark. _Will I never manage to get away from him?_

She didn’t think he’d seen her, gazing as he was at some distant place across the yard. She would just keep to the shadows, not make a sound—

“Do all little birds make a habit of sneaking around at night?”

She froze.

“Don’t try to hide, girl. I know you’re there.”

“I only meant to visit the godswood to pray. To pray for the King, my lord,” she said, stepping out of the shadows.

The Hound snorted. “Boros or Meryn found you, that excuse wouldn’t be worth a mummer’s tears.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll—I’ll go back to my chambers, if it please you.”

“Wait a moment, girl. Here.” He beckoned for her to join him. He smelled of leather and dried sweat. For once, though, he didn’t reek of wine. “See that?”

Sansa peered in the direction he’d been looking. At first she saw nothing. The godswood was a midnight green dappled with black shadow except where moonlight shone on the treetops, and she didn’t know what to look for. She thought she saw something large move in the shadows, but in the gloom she couldn’t be sure. Then with a flutter of wings the creature rose above the trees and she saw it, the moon’s glow illuminating the bird’s green head and shockingly orange outstretched wings.

“From the menagerie?” she breathed, transfixed. The bird rose higher and then Sansa saw another, smaller, with deep purple feathers and a slash of gold across its throat.

“Seems I was right. Some fool with too much gold must have bought the bloody things. Freed them, too, looks like.”

Sansa watched them until they were mere specks in the dark sky. Reluctantly tearing her eyes away, she saw the Hound observing her with a strange intensity. She looked away.

“But who would buy them only to set them free?” she asked.

“Only a bloody fool.”

A suspicion came to her, unlikely as it seemed. Sansa dared to raise her eyes to his fearsome face. It wasn’t so awful just then, the ugly pits and ridges of his scars softened and partly obscured by shadow.

“Thank you for showing me, my lord.” He grunted. “What will happen to them?”

“They’ll fly away back to the Summer Isles where they belong, if they’ve any sense.” He turned his face away from her searching eyes. “Come on now, girl. Back to your cage.”


End file.
